Mara's Light: Wardogs
by Ryu Niiyama
Summary: As the malevolent designs of the world eater loom over Nirn, Skyrim rips itself in twain with Civil War. For Legate Rikke, who shares none of her race's customary hatred all she knows is that the land of her birth runs red with the blood of its children. Can a soldier, with no Nord blood and no Skyrim born heart be the answer that Skyrim and the Legate's solitary heart require?


Mara's Light: Wardogs

By: Ryu Niiyama

Female Dragonborn/ Legate Rikke

This does deal with a dragonborn that is a werewolf, but I try not to take it to a weird level.

* * *

She contemplated the map before her, yet the routes and stratagems she sought would not visit her this night. Instead her thoughts turned to the Auxiliary that had turned the tide in favor of the legion. Nadira was her name; a Redguard name for a mixed Altmer, Redguard woman. It was a name of fire and strength, of justice and wisdom and it suited the manmeri well. Rikke held no prejudices against other races; in the Legion her life had been saved more often than not by non Nords than by her own kin. The Legate wondered briefly how a Manmeri of Cyrodill viewed the Nords of Skyrim. Did she view them as barbarians and warmongers? Or perhaps she viewed Nords as butchers that delighted in pain and suffering, but none more than that of Mer suffering? Rikke's sword was brandished for the sake of stability and peace in her homeland; she took no delight in the lives that had been forfeited upon her blade. The thought that the Auxiliary – Nadira- would view her differently brought a pang of sadness to her stout heart.

The Nord woman closed her eyes thinking of the Dragonborn, who was more equal than protégé despite the difference in rank between them. She had to admit she could feel the female's unique potential the moment that the Dragonborn had stepped foot into Castle Dour, standing with no fear or shame before herself and General Tulius actually challenging the General directly. Tulius had been impressed by the brazen words and he assigned her to Rikke, but Rikke would not be so easily swayed. The task she gave the Manmeri was not one she would have given to a single soldier, Rikke either wanted an exceptional addition to the Legion or the escaped convict would face the death she owed the Empire.

Even battle hardened and somewhat world weary, Rikke of Solitude had been surprised when the potential recruit returned, Fort Hraggstad empty of all bandits. Much of a person's nature can be gleaned by how they fight and why: the boastful and fearful cling to their weapons as saviors, turning a blind eye to their misuse, more interested in the lust of destruction rather than the real impact it has on lives all around them. There were those that were skillful but relished every kill, butchers that were as much of a danger to allies as they were to foes. Rikke had no use for any of them. Then there were those that looked beyond the blade to the lives that would be changed by wielding it. Those with such views were usually quiet, unassuming people even if they were members of the Legion; they didn't fight for pride or for bloodlust but to better themselves and the world around them. The prospect had not been kind to the brigands yet according to the field medics they did not suffer. They had been felled by blade and spell alike and Rikke had been pleased by the prospect of a battlemage that fought to protect within the ranks of the Legion.

For a time that had been enough, a skilled special agent under Rikke's command and a new, very effective weapon to levy at the stormcloaks. The impersonal distance of rank and orders had been enough for the Auxiliary to fade from prominence from Rikke's mind, yet when she saw the Auxiliary again outside the battlements of Korvanjund her heart and mind both stood at attention.

Rikke still wasn't certain how the Auxiliary had managed to nearly sneak up on her company while heavily armored and traveling through snow, but the Manmeri was sensible. Her weapons were tied with cloth and she wore a black cloak to cover her armor. She signaled for the small band of soldiers to move out and she arched an eyebrow as she realized that the new Auxiliary would not unsheathe her sword. Instead she stopped in the open, and Rikke was certain that the fool playing soldier was going to get herself and the rest of the Legion killed. The Manmeri took a deep breath…and changed everything.

The Legate had nearly dropped her sword the first time she heard the Manmeri shout. The Thu'um was a language, a skill like any other, but for man and Mer it required years of diligent training to harness. Even Ulfric only managed to stagger High King Torygg, before he killed him. She watched in awe as the Auxiliary conjured thick, ominous stormclouds with her Voice, yet as the fingers of the divines reached out for metal clad bodies, Rikke noted that the Legion soldiers were spared such assaults as the painful screams of the stormcloaks filled the air. The sudden onset of a storm meant that the ruins were essentially soundproofed as no one would be able to hear the dying screams of soldiers underneath the torrential downpour and booming thunder.

When they regrouped inside the old ruin, Rikke held her tongue as the new Auxiliary dropped her cloak, revealing a set of heavy armor that made the less seasoned members of the company gasp in surprise. The Manmeri was shrouded from head to toe in armor of quicksilver and steel that mimicked the style of the Legion, yet was finer than any General's armor. A full faced helm hid nothing but stern ocher eyes from view and a heavy crimson cape embroidered with the Empire's rendition of Akatosh in gold. An ebony great sword lay strapped to her back and an ebony scimitar and dagger were strapped to her hips. The shield that had been strapped to the Auxiliary's back had been enough to pull a gasp even from the disciplined Legate.

The Wall. The shield was literally out of legend; a great Kite Shield nearly Rikke's height in length that had been forged by the Hero of Kvatch herself. It was large enough to halt barrages of arrows yet its kite shape made it easier to wield in direct combat. Rikke had read that the shield was actually quite heavy as it was made of Ebony and ironheart wood. The back, trim and massive Imperial Dragon were made of ebony while ironheart slats covered the front to allow it to absorb arrows. The shield was the template used for the current design of the Imperial shield, although Rikke could plainly see that their smiths had not done it justice at all. Who was this traveler to possess such a rare artifact? Despite her curiosity, Rikke knew that they had a war to put an end to so she called her soldiers together and was grateful that despite her unorthodox armor, the Auxiliary heeded her orders.

They rushed the stormcloaks, surprising the misguided pretenders of Skyrim. Rikke waded into the fray first, yet she kept an eye on her soldiers. Had her life not been on the line she would have paused to watch the Auxiliary fight in blissful admiration. It was obvious she was strong, but she danced and parried in battle; every retreat an attack, every attack a counter. She had served with a Redguard only once in her tenure so far, Rinkah had been her name, the woman fought with a dagger and spear but she had the same quicksilver power that the Manmeri had placed upon display. The formidable warrior had been killed in Hammerfell when the Dominion took their culling war to the Redguard homeland. Putting aside her grief for a lost Legion sibling, Rikke suspected she had no need to wonder at the non Altmer side to the Auxiliary's heritage now.

Yet the Manmeri didn't rely on words of power that struck an opponent, rather she stung together whispers and shouts to make her blade faster than the eye could see and to reveal locations of hidden stormcloaks for Legion arrows to find. Her skill with a blade, not her Voice, felled opponent after opponent as she flowed in battle, easily partnering with the junior members, keeping them safe before pressing onward. They cleared a room and Rikke ordered two of the younger soldiers to head back to the entrance to help keep further reinforcements from arriving. She sent the rest of the battalion onward to scout ahead and to double back when they encountered more of the enemy.

Rikke had stepped forward to follow her soldiers when a strong hand jerked her backwards. Furious, the Legate prepared to reprimand the Auxiliary when the whizzing sounds of arrows filled the air. Ice blue eyes widened in alarmed understanding as flames immediately spread all around them, igniting the dirt covered oil trap that Rikke had nearly stepped in. Yet the attack corralled the two soldiers together and they paused in one frozen moment as they heard an ominous crack of wood. Suddenly the floor beneath their feet gave way and they fell into the darkness below.

Rikke came to at the gentle urging of the Dragonborn. She wasn't gravely injured but by the Divines she was getting too old for this nonsense. Standing to her feet with a grunt, the Legate assessed the situation quickly. "Damnit, the floor was likely weak from age. Combined with all that oil those Stormcloaks set ablaze it's no wonder that we are stuck in here. Still, I owe you my life Auxiliary."

"Nadira."

Rikke grinned grimly at the response. Despite coming from a Legionnaire linage on her mother's side, the Manmeri didn't stand much on the decorum of rank. She followed orders, but Rikke always got the sense of a cat or perhaps a wild wolf with her. She followed because she chose to, but she could just as easily disobey if she didn't agree with the order. Honestly that trait was what pushed the Legate to have the Dragonborn instated to the Legion in the first place. She wasn't meant to be a soldier, but she did have the potential to be a leader.

"Stand back… I can get us out of here."

"You can't shout or use your magic… you'll bring the rest of the rubble down on our heads." Rikke couldn't actually see the Dragonborn's eyes in her helmet but she could _feel_ the glare as if she were a particularly dim witted child.

"I know that…but I can clear a path. Now stand back."

Rikke could hear a bit of the Thu'um in the demand and something else she couldn't place. Yet it was enough to force the hardened warrior to take a few steps back. Her eyes narrowed as the Dragonborn began to quickly remove her armor. Before the Legate could speak or stop the Dragonborn, the manmeri dropped to her knees groaning in pain. It only took a few terrible moments for Rikke to understand why. A great werewolf, tall and sleek yet still powerful replaced the raven haired Dragonborn and Rikke fought the urge to draw her sword.

She had to hope that Nadira had a reason for changing and was in control. Otherwise she wasn't sure how well she would be able to fight off a werewolf in such an enclosed space. The werewolf glanced at Rikke and let out a growling puff of air in acknowledgment before moving towards the rubble and beginning to carefully lift and remove the rubble blocking their path. Once an opening large enough to accommodate her transformed state had been made, the werewolf moved aside and motioned for Rikke to join her. Wanting to return the Auxiliary's kindness, Rikke picked up the discarded armor and weapons and walked through the opening. Before she could move too far a large clawed hand pressed against her belly pushing her against the wall, and Rikke saw the werewolf's ears twitch and she began to scent the air. With a careful swipe, the werewolf forced her to drop the reclaimed items and when the scuttling of many feet and the jet of poison of a frostbite spider hit the air where she had been standing Rikke realized she owed the Dragonborn her life yet again.

The werewolf moved quickly, with none of the bloodlust from the tales, but she punched and bludgeoned and slashed at the giant spiders until they lay dead. The Legate paused as she watched a clawed hand reach out with remorseful reverence and stroke one of the fallen creature's heads. Confused, Rikke stepped forward and grasped one of the werewolf's powerful arms. Intelligent amber eyes met hers and ears flickered in lupine embarrassment. "We are the intruders here. I… hate killing one trying to protect her home and family. She only wanted to hunt and raise her daughters in peace." The gruffness of the Dragonborn's voice didn't overwrite its smooth, velvet tones and Rikke's heart was moved with pity for the slain spiders.

"You can speak to them?"

"The Thu'um is a language, a conversation to the very nature of a being, it …has provided a greater understanding of Kynareth's creatures. But this form is not well suited for the Thu'um and she and her younglings were too afraid to listen. Come." They moved through the bowels of Korvanjund, quickly coming to a place that they could climb to rejoin the rest of the company. The Dragonborn motioned for Rikke to climb upon her back and she looped her arms around a corded neck and her legs around a trim but well muscled waist. The Nord found out that unlike a dog or wolf a werewolf's tail was prehensile, as the fluffy appendage looped around Rikke's back, pressing her tightly against the Auxiliary. The Dragonborn began a steady but careful climb and Rikke marveled at the effortless strength and ease with which they ascended. After a long while, the two reached an opening and the Dragonborn leapt from her purchase to land upon stable ground. Rikke climbed from the back of her soldier and drew her sword as she heard the sounds of fighting.

Rushing forward Rikke saw that her soldiers were pinned by the stormcloaks, many of them pierced with arrows, although they were all still alive at the moment. Yet the kingkiller's army knew that they had the advantage and were pressing forward. Behind her the Dragonborn lopped forward upon all fours, roaring with such ferocity that it sent shivers of awe and confused delight up the Legate's spine.

The Dragonborn surged towards the Stormcloaks, ripping through them like parchment. Saving the lives of the two injured legionaries nearby even as she continued her overwhelming assault. Shrugging off the arrows that managed to pierce her flank, Nadira jumped to the nearby scaffolding and then only the sounds of terrified screams could be heard. Rikke took a defensive position in front of her men, praying to Talos that Nadira could control the bloodlust lest their would be savior become a harbinger of death. When all was silent, Rikke looked around for the Dragonborn, confused when she didn't return. Had she been injured? Did they have the means to treat a werewolf? The Legate checked up on her soldiers, dragging them backwards to a safer position before she stood ready to go after the missing Dragonborn.

She paused as she heard armored footsteps rushing towards them and she sheathed her sword as she heard the shouted "FUS" and the death scream of a stormcloak as he fell to his death. Turning to meet the Manmeri she noted that the Dragonborn had looped back and reclaimed her armor, likely not wanting her secret revealed. Rikke felt humbled and honored that she was trusted enough with the truth of her blood. The Dragonborn removed her helmet and mask and pulled a magika potion from her pack, guzzling the azure liquid like water. Before Rikke could question she watched as the Manmeri knelt by the closest soldier, hands pulsing with powerful healing magic. After she'd sealed the soldier's wounds and checked her for other injuries, she moved towards the next.

Fenrig was a young Nord from Windhelm, the boy didn't didn't agree with the war his Jarl had started but there was a hardness to him cultivated from living in Ulfric's city. He flinched back when he saw the face of the Auxiliary and Rikke slapped one of his injuries in retaliation. The Dragonborn startled at Fenrig's cry of pain but Rikke ignored her. "Your leg is badly damaged soldier. Now are you going to tell me that you'd rather lose it than accept the healing that a fellow Legionnaire and citizen of the Empire would provide you?!" The boy glanced from his superior officer to the healed soldier who had walked up and was staring at him in confusion. Rikke watched the soldier ask himself the question that Rikke wouldn't voice and she nearly smiled as she saw the moment that he made the correct decision.

"No Legate, I would not refuse treatment. Please, ma'am, continue."

"What is your name soldier?"

"Fenrig, ma'am."

"I'm Nadira, I come from Chorral. I swear, I don't know how you do it…the snow is beautiful here, but I feel like I have to wear 20 layers just to stop my teeth from chattering!" Rikke moved away as she realized what the Dragonborn was doing. Her introduction took the boy's mind off of the magic she used to numb his flesh as she set his leg and then healed it.

"Here you are Legate."

Rikke looked up as Fenrig walked into her tent, bearing a sealed scroll case. An Auxiliary now, he moved with easy movements thanks to the Dragonborn's ministrations all those months ago. Fenrig of Windhelm had become the Dragonborn's most ardent supporter and the Dragonborn, in her kindness, never failed to speak to him briefly when she saw him in camp. He would make a fine soldier thanks to his culture shock and awakening and Rikke was grateful for both his life and his enlightenment. "Thank you soldier, have a good rest."

"Ma'am, yes ma'am!"

Rikke didn't have to investigate the history of new recruits during war time as the demands of war meant that the Legion required as many able bodies as possible so she couldn't lie to herself and say that the report shed just been given had been for the betterment of the Empire. Yet Rikke of Solitude was compelled, and she longed to know more about the Manmeri that haunted her dreams. Being dispatched to camp outside Whiterun the moment the General received Jarl Balgruuf's letter had given her time to make inquiries into her Special Agent's past.

She wasn't surprised to find that the Dragonborn had descended from a military lineage on her maternal side, although her eyebrow quirked at the note of the Blades lineage as well. The House of Baurus went into hiding faster than most other Blade lineages, likely due to Baurus' station as the last Grandmaster of the Order and their subsequent hunting by the Thalmor. Yet they merely found other ways to serve the Empire in secret; they became a family of great smiths and Legionaries, their Blades heritage present in all that they did. Ashranda of the House of Baurus had risen to the rank of Captain before the loss of a leg in battle forced her to an early retirement. A fearsome warrior and an accomplished smith, she'd continued aiding the Empire by plying her trade and supplying arms and armor to the Legion.

Aelyn and Aelius were the twin children of the Heroine of Kavatch and sister and brother were said to have followed in their noble mother's footsteps closely. Their skill and bloodline made them targets of the Thalmor, although there was little information in the report that explained to Rikke what happened to them. However Aelius and Ashandra were married for a little over two decades before he met an untimely end. His elder sister died several years earlier as well. The only other personal tie to the Dragonborn had been a manmeri of primarily Orismer descent by the name of Kawaga gro-Malog. Rikke gripped the scroll tightly at the impersonal revelation that gro-Malog was to have been the Dragonborn's intended.

The reports of the cloud of death that seemed to follow the Dragonborn were full of redacted information that even her rank didn't allow her to review, but Rikke could piece together enough to understand the reason behind the persistent sadness that lurked in the Dragonborn's eyes. War and the power of her bloodline had taken everything away from the Dragonborn, setting her to wandering aimlessly until she met her destiny here in Skyrim. Rikke wished that she could banish the Dragonborn's sadness as easily as she felled an enemy in battle, longing for the female that lay beneath the titles. The daughter of a minor Thane and given a noble's as well as an officer's education, Rikke's sharp mind and kind but prudent soul rejoiced in the gentle heart that abhorred war but took up arms to protect. She longed for the nights that she would debate philosophy under the stars with the Archmage of the College of Winterhold, who held herself with a simple, humble mien despite being anything but.

The Legate let out a sardonic chuckle at the revelation that the Manmeri Dragonborn was several years her senior; at least she could stop mentally chastising herself for lusting after a young although not particularly impressionable recruit. It was strange the age disparity that human-mer relationships could create and she wondered briefly how the Dragonborn's own parents dealt with the age difference. Not that it mattered at this point, Rikke's loyal heart was already captured, secreted away by a kind, brilliant mage-warrior that bore that weight of the world on her weary shoulders.

Rikke sent a silent prayer of thanks to Talos at the morbid mercy that saved the Dragonborn's life as she'd been arrested for crossing the border during wartime with no identification. A fineable offense with possible expulsion during peacetime, such a trespass was punishable by death during war to cull spies and assassins. Yet this new found knowledge didn't give her the revelation that she'd hoped for. She hoped to make some sense of the fire that burned wildly within her heart, fire that was inappropriate given that they were in the middle of a war and the one she longed for was a subordinate.

It was the longings of an old fool, Rikke knew but she couldn't stop herself. The Dragonborn made her feel like a maiden in the throes of her first romance, rather than a well-traveled warrior of the Legion. If she had any sense she'd forget all about the beautiful Dragonborn with hazel eyes and copper skin. Yet Nords were not always sensible, and they often followed their hearts, a Nord in love most of all. The seasoned Legate rose and grasped her sword and shield, moving swiftly through the camp and to the stables. She saddled her horse quickly and spurred her mount onward riding through the golden sea of grass that was Whiterun Plains her mind and heart full of the Dragonborn.

Rikke admired the battle prowess of the Manmeri female; even without the Thu'um she was a powerful swordswoman and battlemage and the morbid poetry she wove in battle made Rikke's warrior heart skip a beat. The Dragonborn was a brilliant scholar as well; a trait that tugged at Rikke's spirit. The Legate waged war with her mind as much as her blade, and to find another warrior that valued the strength of the mind struck Julianos' place within her heart. The necessities of war had allowed Rikke to see the Dragonborn in various states of undress and Rikke allowed herself to review those memories not as a fellow warrior or as a fellow female, but instead as a woman that longed to court and bed the Dragonborn. The Nord woman felt the flames of Dibella roar in her heart and her loins at the thought of the exquisite physical form and beauty of the Dragonborn. Zenithar had rewarded the Dragonborn's hard work and dedication as a smith and warrior, bequeathing fluidic, sensual power that was enhanced by Dibella's grace upon her form.

The most alluring thing about her seemed to be the fact that she had no idea of her beauty. Rikke could understand that. As a manmeri Nadira normally met scorn or pity of others, most unwilling to believe that she was the product of a loving union rather than some dark result of the aldmeri occupation. Of course most would fail to recognize that she aged similar to her Mer kin and was born two decades before the War had even begun let alone surviving its duration. Hatred made others blind and foolish, even within tolerant Solitude many in Castle Dour seemed to struggle with an attraction to her beauty and revulsion to her heritage. All Rikke knew was the Auxillary drove her insane; she'd destroyed many a training dummy since the Manmeri had been assigned to her squadron, wishing that rank and circumstance didn't separate them so. She respected Nadira as both a warrior and as the legendary Dragonborn and her feelings for the woman beneath the titles set her soul ablaze.

Rikke had been fortunate as she'd seen the Dragonborn's face without the mask for full face helms that often hid her countenance from view. She understood the unspoken reason that the Manmeri rarely showed her face, although the truth of it made Rikke's heart burn in righteous indignation. What did it matter the blood of her parents? Could her fellow Nords be so blind as to not see the fire of her heart and the honor of her noble spirit? How could an Altmer or Redguard feel nothing but joy at the knowledge that she descended from their beautiful lineages?

It was moments like this that she wondered at the wisdom of stopping the World Eater from his task. Perhaps Alduin saw an irredeemable aspect of Man and Mer; after all wasn't that was why the Divines had left the mortal plane while the Daedra made merry with the lives of mortals? What of the ranting's of the Mythic Dawn that Tamriel, born of Shor's bones was merely a plane of Oblivion? The Legate sighed; she had no power of creation and destruction beyond that of a warrior's blade and a woman's womb, so who was she to judge Nirn? She could only fight for a better Skyrim and show the Dragonborn by example that not all would forsake her.

She rode for a candlemark before finding a place to water her horse and to rest. The Legate sat gazing upon the stars when her horse began to shuffle and paw at the ground. The mare didn't seem fearful but she seemed to recognize that someone or something was coming. Rikke pat her mare's flank to calm her before she drew her sword. In the darkness of the night a large, fast running shadowy creature appeared over the horizon and Rikke loosed her shield as she watched the dark shadow pause in its run and then turn in her direction. Within moments she found herself staring at the approaching form of the very Manmeri that she was trying not to think about.

The Dragonborn changed back midstride and she pet Rikke's horse soothingly before standing before Rikke herself. The Legate noticed that the Dragonborn was wearing her custom forged armor and the Nord flushed briefly at the knowledge that Nadira had crafted the fine armor herself. She supposed that wasn't a normal point of attraction for most other races, but never let it be said that a Nord doesn't appreciate finely made weapons and armor.

"Hail Legate. You got here sooner than I expected."

Rikke fought down a blush, not knowing if the werewolf had some unknown ability to see in the dark. It would not do for the Auxiliary to find out that she pushed her regiment into a rushed march, not just for Whiterun's sake but also because Jarl Balgruuf mentioned that the Dragonborn had been his emissary to Windhelm. She noted a traveler's pack strapped to the Dragonborn's back and she motioned for the female to take a seat next to her. The Manmeri removed her helmet and mask and set her pack at her side as she sunk down next to Rikke. The two sat in silence for a moment before the Dragonborn deigned to speak.

"Ulfric will set his army towards Whiterun soon, Rikke. This battle is imminent. Not even the World Eater gives that fool pause."

Rikke nodded, a part of her sad at what her old friend had become, but unwilling to give him any quarter if this was the path he chose. Ulfric's path spilled the blood of her kin to anoint his traitor's crown. She didn't love the Thalmor occupation any more than any other in Skyrim, but she would not see the Empire and those that called it home fall to the arrogance of one man. The Dragonborn sighed softly and reached into her pack to remove a large package. "Your sword and shield look to be family heirlooms, but I hope that you will wear this armor when the Stormcloak come to bear, Legate."

Rikke took the heavy package and she opened it with careful reverence. Inside lay an armor unlike anything she'd ever seen before. The armor most certainly called to mind the armor of the Legion, namely that of Generals and the Penitus Oculatus, but it was heavy armor designed for frontline battle. An ebony/quicksilver alloy formed the heavy armor while gold plated ebony accented and adorned the armor with motifs of the Imperial Dragon and the eagle. Rikke passed her hands over the heavy battle skirt and the heavy red silk and ebonylink lined trousers. A great red silk war cape lined with ebonylink and embroidered with gold accents and the Imperial Dragon covered a great plumed helm that shined with the armored motif of golden laurels. Not even the Emperor bore an armor so finely made and Rikke could not bank her tears at the sight. The Dragonborn stood abruptly, likely misunderstanding the cause for Rikke's tears, and the Legate carefully but swiftly set the precious package aside.

Rikke could take no more. No more games, no more teasing. No more wondering where she stood with the female that had given her a gift beyond compare. She quickly snagged the wrist of the female before her, keeping her from running away. Pulling the slightly taller Manmeri into her embrace, Rikke plundered the Dragonborn's sweet mouth in a way that would leave no doubt of her intentions. With no little pride, Rikke couldn't fight a smirk as she watched the slightly dazed Manmeri attempt to collect herself. Nadira smiled and closed the distance between them again, and the Nord swore that she heard a growl. She moaned as she felt the skillful fingers of her new lover intertwine with her own and stroke her skin softly in an Orcish caress. Rikke pulled away with slow sweetness, groaning as her beloved immediately nuzzled and suckled at her neck above her armor collar. It was seem that while she had seen the Manmeri in playfulness, in sadness, in seriousness and in earnestness, she had only now uncovered the passion that burned brightly beneath the Dragonborn's somewhat reserved demeanor.

With aching regret, the Legate pushed her new lover gently away, leaning forward to kiss away the confusion that she could see beginning to brew in bright ocher eyes. "Wait a moment." Rikke moved away and towards her horse with a calm she didn't feel as she reached for her pack. The Legate drew out her bow and signal arrow and she shuddered as she felt warm hands turn her around and gently clasp the hand that bore the arrow. Rikke looked in aroused confusion as the Dragonborn lifted her hand, stroking it with sensual implication and holding the arrow away from them, before leaning in close to whisper a soft "Yol" which set the arrow alight.

Rikke clenched with a pleasant ache at the easy, sensual display of power and she stepped away and notched the bow. She shot up the flaming arrow; a signal that she was well and that she would make camp for the night. She thought that the Dragonborn would loose herself upon her then, but she found that the Manmeri was practical in all things, even seduction. The Dragonborn moved to set up a camp, starting a fire and moving to gather her tent and bedrolls. Rikke moved to assist her lover in pitching a tent and setting their bedrolls and she let out a soft laugh when the Dragonborn offered to hunt for her. With a sensual smile, the Legate pushed her lover gently into the tent, telling her that the only feast she wished to indulge in stood before her. Rikke was charmed as her love blushed to the tips of her pointed ears before they came together in a tender embrace.

They undid each other's armor with the reverence and practiced ease that only a warrior or smith could possess and as the Dragonborn stood bare before her, Rikke bit her lower lip in pleased admiration. The Legate could easily say that Nadira was the most beautiful female she'd ever seen. She possessed the height of the Altmer, forcing even Rikke to have to look up slightly to meet her eyes: a soft hazel shade that shined with gentleness and wisdom and made Rikke constantly fight the urge to blush. Her body was nearly unblemished, a testament to her skill, and her power and femininity flowed seamlessly together in a way that lit the Legate's libido ablaze. Yet it was the unmitigated desire and hunger that she saw in the gentle werewolf's gaze that made the seasoned Legate feel like a maiden experiencing love play for the first time.

They reached for each other and it was as if they had always been one. They moved together with sweet, loving intent, growing tender in one moment and passionate the next. Rikke smiled with a lover's pride as she coaxed forth roars and stuttering howls from her otherworldly lover's mortal form, the sounds praises to Dibella rather than rallies to Talos. She sighed and moaned and screamed as her beloved turned her ardent touch upon her body, driving her to the precipice of Dibella's grace and beyond. Yet it was the whispered words of love between them, the promise that this was more than a sweet tryst, that touched the Legate's battle weary soul. Rikke fell into an easy slumber in her lover's arms, feeling dexterous fingers gently combing through her burnished honey blonde hair.

When the Legate woke she was alone, but the sight of a bubbling stew by the campfire and the pleasantly sated hum to her muscles let her know that that indeed Mara had cast her Light upon her. Knowing that she needed to return to camp, the Legate quickly dressed and ate before breaking camp and heading back to her regiment. She greeted the soldiers and fought hard to tame a proud smile as they gapped and gasped at her new well-fitting armor. The Legate moved to her tent and penned a missive to the General before casting a prayer in her heart to both Talos and Mara. To Talos she asked for strength to protect her homeland and her love, to Mara she prayed for protection for her love, so that in hardwon peace they would be able to be together.

Ice blue eyes snapped upwards in attention as a soldier burst into her tent, her body radiating with tension. "Legate! We are to ride to Whiterun! Orders from the General ma'am!" Nodding swiftly, Rikke put aside Rikke the woman and lover and became The Legate. She rallied her troops and mounted her horse. With a sharply barked order the Legate and her company rode to aid Whiterun in maintaining its freedom.

The battle had been a fierce one, fraught with casualties on both sides, yet Rikke suspected that on this day Ulfric the Kingkiller realized that he had set his fangs to the throat of a true Mistress of the Thu'um. The Legate fought on the front lines standing apart from the Legion with the Dragonborn at her back. Rikke had never seen anything like it; shouts that called forth the very animals of the wild, frost and fire and wind... there were even times where it seemed as if her beloved moved faster than the eye could see. The stormcloak army didn't even make it past the stables, many of them dying in the fields of the farms the surrounded Whiterun while the rest fell to arrows volleyed from the city gates.

The newly minted Quaestor and Heroine of Whiterun assisted readily with the war effort, but any attempts made by Rikke to speak with her further were quietly rebuffed. She wanted to see the face of her love, to hold her close and be assured that she was whole, but the Dragonborn seemed to want to keep her own counsel. Rikke would not allow her beloved to retreat and she went to her in her home in Whiterun. Rikke pushed verbally, tryin to draw her suddenly reticent lover to her and the Dragonborn descended upon her with passion and tightly restrained fury.

Nadira was a fierce lover this night. Unrelenting and ravenous yet while she didn't hurt Rikke, the tender and caring lover she had known before the battle had fled from her. Rikke couldn't recall the last time she'd been so thoroughly taken, yet her heart felt bereft and alone. She knew some fear and pain spirited away her sweet lover and left in her place this distant vixen. Their duties separated them, but there was a coolness that was entering their interactions. Had she somehow lost her beloved's favor? Why did she stand apart from her when they should be together? Rikke was not a woman to wallow in her fears however; knowledge led to action and Rikke coveted knowledge as many do riches.

Rikke and her regiment stayed in Whiterun for two more weeks to assist with rebuilding while Ulfric licked his wounds. In that time the Questor functioned as a vanguard, assisting in the liberation of smaller areas within Whiterun Hold. Rikke knew that the General was preparing to use their momentum to begin to strike back at Ulfric and that it was only a matter of time before she was called back to the frontlines. Determined Legate Rikke of the Imperial Legion swept into the halls of Jorvaskar, her crimson cape billowing majestically behind her, her eyes searching for her quarry. "I seek Aela the Huntress."

A beautiful Nord with flaming red hair and piercing blue eyes answered her call and met with her in her rooms. It had not taken much to determine that the Companions held much more than hardy warriors. All of Legate Rikke's reports had determined that the Dragonborn had been unchanged before she rose in rank in the Companions. The Dragonborn was very, very skilled but none of the remarkable gifts such as her skill with the Thu'um or the otherworldly strength that bled into a werewolf's mortal form had been on display before she came to Skyrim. Certainly if she had always been a werewolf, the Legion wouldn't have arrested her in the first place. It wasn't difficult to deduce that the new Harbinger, fresh from a war with werewolf hunters, had gained her powers here. Aela listened with neutral ears as Rikke explained the Dragonborn's behavior but Rikke caught a tightening of her eyes at the mention of their romantic association. It would seem she found both her lover's wolf mother and a rival for her affection. With a sigh that sounded filled with regret, the werewolf gave Rikke the information she needed.

Yet it would seem that the Divines sought to test Rikke's conviction as she was called to the Pale to begin the reunification of Skyrim. The Questor was distant and Rikke forced herself to merely be the Legate for both of their sakes. She gave orders and prayed to Talos and Mara while she awaited her beloved subordinate's return. The Legion pushed and hammered at the stormcloak army for weeks, until finally the Legate could give the order to make a play for Fort Dunstad. It would seem that Oblivion had returned to wreck havoc on Nirn itself again. Two dragons raided mid-skirmish and rained down pandemonium and death in the form of fire and frost. The stormcloaks began firing at everything that moved, friend or foe, and the Legate surged forward as she saw one of her soldiers caught in bow sights after felling a stormcloak soldier. Rikke rushed forward but she was too late as multiple arrows went flying.

The arrows found their mark above and below her shield and Rikke went down with a pained grunt. As she lay sprawled and dazed upon the ground, assessing her body mentally for injuries an earsplitting scream that ascended to a roar filled the air. Rikke sat up slowly, determining that she actually wasn't injured, her armor holding fast, but the arrows were thicker and designed to pierce armor. She had been fortunate for that the ebony and quicksilver armor her beloved provided had saved her life. Her customary heavy steel plate would not have afforded her such mercy, it most certainly didn't aid the poor soldier she'd been trying to protect. The Legate moved to the soldier and turned him over, dismayed to see Fenrig's lifeless brown eyes staring back up at her. Praying to Shor to take him, Rikke stood and ordered a full retreat. She would not see her soldiers ripped apart by dragons.

As the soldiers rushed towards their camp, the Legate winced as bestial roars and frantic, terrified screams filled the air as the stormcloaks within the fort did not face a kind death. Before Rikke could react to the still rampaging dragons, the furious, blood slicked werewolf form appeared at the top of the battlements and let out a roar laced with the Thu'um. She watched in horror as the Dragonborn, her back to Rikke, gave a mighty leap to land onto the hind leg of one of the dragons. The werewolf wasted no time, biting and clawing and ripping, tearing the mighty beast apart mid-air. With foresight that Rikke would not have expected given her rage, the Dragonborn steered the dying dragon into the flight path of the other one, leaping onto it as the two beasts crashed into each other. The living dragon went down at a frantic pace, crashing with a thunderous sound and skidding to a stop in the nearby open plains. The other dragon crashed to its death well away from the fort and Rikke rushed towards the living one with a drawn sword, praying her lover was still alive.

The werewolf had lost all sense of self as she ripped into the massive lizard's throat viciously. She staggered from her kill and threw back her head and roared in triumphant fury. The souls of the dragons slammed into the Dragonborn, driving her to her knees and Rikke ran with all of her might towards her beloved. Sensing her approach, the Dragonborn turned bestial eyes upon Rikke and she hesitated, confused by the lack of awareness. The sleek predator stood and swiftly rushed her, knocking her weapons free with a negligent swipe and the huntress lifted Rikke from her feet, dark pelted ears twitching in time with the rushed sound of her breath. The werewolf carefully pressed her nose beneath Rikke's chin, scenting her before her desperate grip loosened and she pulled her lover to her in an embrace. "Ri...kke…I…I thought…" The werewolf trembled, words difficult for her as she struggled not to be swept away by the wolf. In an instant Rikke realized that Nadira had seen her go down and thought she'd been felled in battle. The carnage that ensued afterwards was the retribution of her frenzied grief. Rikke passed her arms around her lover's primal form, stroking fur slick with blood.

"It's ok, I'm here."

With a snarl, Nadira bore Rikke to the ground, her eyes frantic and her hands roaming over her well armored form. Rikke met the eyes of her love, seeing the battlelust born from fear and relief and she lay back prepared to ease her lover though her turmoil. Yet the Dragonborn's respectful, loving heart lay beneath the terrified beast and she reared back and let loose a howl of pure pain before she leapt from her lover's prone form and ran.

"NADIRA!"

Rikke could not catch her and would not be able to find her if she didn't want to be found, so with a heavy heart the Legate returned to camp. She sent a few scouts to make sure that the fort had been cleared and she penned a missive to the General to let him know of their blood paid success. She looked up as the flap to her tent opened up and an oddly contrite Dragonborn stood before her. Rikke let her eyes wander over her lover impartially, searching for injuries and finding none. Crossing her arms the Legate stared at her subordinate and lover.

"Are you expecting a reprimand, soldier?"

"I…" The dragonborn began and then trailed off, shaking her head, all of her vaulted wit abandoning her.

"You've done nothing wrong…Nadira. A member of your company and your commanding officer fell in battle; you eliminated the threat to ensure my chances of survival. I do not relish death but I also know that those stormcloaks forfeited their lives the moment they brandished blades against the Empire."

"I…I am not a monster, Rikke…"

"I _know_ that. Do you think that you are the only one to feel anger and dismay at the unjustness of war? My homeland is thrown into turmoil because a man believes that the only thing required to rule is money and might. He cares only for the citizens that look like him…and even then only so much as he can use them. He sends our youth to the battlefields, scaring our lands, refusing aid and succor to any that are not Nord. Ulfric was a friend once, I may not have always agreed with him, but I believed at one time he wanted a peaceful Skyrim…but this horror…we have seen enough of war and death, my love, both of us. There are no monsters here save the greed of dark ambition."

The Dragonborn flinched at the endearment and Rikke frowned thinking her noble idiot of a beloved was going to do something very stupid, and something she would not allow. " _No._ If you've come here to leave me, because you are afraid, I won't allow it. If you wish to part ways with me because I no longer hold your heart… then tell me now."

The Dragonborn looked at her with helpless eyes, pleading silently for her to understand. Ice blue eyes would not waver as the Legate stared down her lover. The Manmeri shook her head and looked away. Rikke ached to go to her lover, but she needed Nadira to make her decision for herself. "We have been summoned by the General. We leave for Solitude in the morning. Get some rest, Nadira." The Dragonborn nodded and sullenly left the tent. The Nord sat down heavily in the chair behind her, heart trip hammering at the loss she narrowly avoided. She ached for her lover's arms around her, but she knew where would be no sweet sanctuary this night.

The trip to Solitude battered the walls that the Dragonborn tried to erect as their natural, easy camaraderie pushed to the forefront. They spoke and debated and laughed and sang as they rode their horses towards the capital. They wore light leather armor to facilitate a quicker journey, and the Nord found herself smiling at the sight of windblown raven curls and warm ocher eyes. Rikke knew that all was not well, but by the time they reached Solitude an amiable peace had settled between them. They walked through bustling streets of Solitude and Rikke had to fight the light skip that wanted to encroach upon her measured stride as her heart filled to bursting for the love of her heart by her side.

"Rikke!"

The Legate grunted as the Dragonborn tackled her, shielding her body and then stiffening in pain as a serrated blade, designed to pierce light armor, cut into her side. "The Sons of Atmora smite you, Imperial dogs!" Rikke rolled to her feet and drew her sword before the attacker could draw his and she plunged her family steel into his belly before kicking him from her blade. The Legate called for a healer with a calm she didn't feel, and she watched helplessly as her beloved's trembling form was taken away. Ever the soldier, Legate Rikke reported to her General in Castle Dour but even Tulius took pity upon her as he sent her to the Dragonborn's side. She was not allowed to stay long, only enough to see the pale, feverish face of her love as she fought a ruinous poison. The healers stated that her Redguard like constitution was what kept her alive long enough for an antidote to be administered, but the Dragonborn was still currently fighting for her life. With a heavy heart, Rikke returned to her manor in Solitude nodding absently to the soldier that had been posted to guard her residence.

The Sons of Atmora as they called themselves were an extremist offshoot of the Stormcloak army. They weren't endorsed by Ulfric but he didn't renounce them, nor did he complain as their rhetoric swelled his ranks with angry youths ready to spill non Nord blood. They spoke to a dark ugliness and shame of the Nordic heart. The thought that blood was enough to prove worth and that because they were the ones with swords the Nord race should hold dominion over all. Rikke detested such thoughts and she renounced her ancestors that ever believed it, but the poison the Sons of Atmora shouted was nothing more than a more vile form of the passive aggressive culture of her land.

After all her kinsmen claimed open-mindedness, but did the daughters and sons of Skyrim truly treat others within Skyrim's borders as honest equals? In Windhelm, the Mer lived in slums even as their labor benefited the entire city. Beastfolk were not even allowed entry into the gates. Even Solitude was not without its inequalities as the taxes for non Nords, even if they were natives to Skyrim were higher. People prefaced statements of derision with "I bear no ill will towards them, but" and Rikke wondered what the members of the Legion, a mighty force made up of all of the races for the Empire's sake, were giving their lives for.

She hated the excuse that "all nations engaged in expansion at some point" hating that genocide and slavery and rape were covered with pretty words and distance and a demand for patriotic unity that only held Nords in prominence and promised Nords forgiveness while they spit on the other races. She hated that her people would rather forget than learn, would rather pretend that the other races of Skyrim's anger held no merit. She hated to watch good friends endure scorn but even worse she hated to watch the ennui that easily crossed their faces, as if they knew in their hearts that Nords would never change…would never become the noble race they claimed to be. She hated that while she was the exception in their eyes and yet there was still a wall that she could not breach, and she feared that the Dragonborn, a daughter of Altmer and Redguard parents would feel the same.

Rikke paced in her quarters, the Dragonborn never far from her thoughts, the vision of her normally swarthy skin made sallow with fever and pain made her sick. "No!" with a cry of anguish and outrage, the Legate overturned the heavy dining table within in her quarters. What a fool she had been. If only she had maintained her vigilance, if only she'd kept her distance from the Dragonborn she would hale and hearty even now. Rikke looked up at the unfortunate guard that had been tasked to be posted nearby, watching his terrified but determined face as he burst into her home, sword at the ready to face an assailant. The soldier took in the destruction all around him, quickly determining that the only enemy to the Legate here was herself. Nodding awkwardly, the soldier left his Legate to her grief and guilt and as the door closed the formidable warrior sunk to her knees and wept. Slumber alluded the gentle warrior until the small hours of the night. Discipline was the only thing that forced Rikke from her bed as she moved like a woman that had aged 100 years overnight. She paused in her washing of her face as a gentle knock sounded at her door and a soldier entered.

"Legate, Captain Vendicci is here to see you ma'am."

Adelaisa Vendicci was an old friend of Rikke's, they gone through basic training together and Vendicci had taken the administration path with the East Empire Trading Company. There was an old rivalry between the Trade Soldiers and the Field Solders, but luckily neither woman cared for posturing and oneupmansip. Adelaisa noticed her friend's haggard appearance immediately and called her on it. Cornered, Rikke told her friend everything, only keeping the secret of wolf blood from her friend. For a time the Trade Soldier said nothing, and then suddenly she banged her hand against the now up-righted dining table and looked her friend in the eyes.

"What will you do Rikke? It's not like you to be a coward."

"Addy, she nearly died-"

"Yes, because some idiot pups find hatred finer company than progress. They'd rather drag Skyrim back to beating stones rather than use their energy and anger to try to better Skyrim for all who call her home. Sadly fools like that are a septim a dozen, Rikke. Will you let hatred destroy your love?"

"I can't protect her…"

"Protect _her_? Rikke I know you are good, but you aren't that good… she is the divines fated Dragonborn for Aetherius' sake! She breathes fire and conjures storms! She is the one that will protect you…and it would seem she did so once again."

"I know I just…"

"Love her. I know Rikke, you wear it well. However would you want her to ask you to step away from the Legion? Would you have her renounce her blood? Would you put her aside so easily if she were a Nord? Take care that your coddling doesn't stem from her blood any more than the hatred of the Cowards of Atmora does. You will face hardships merely because the world seeks to sour your happiness with her. Cowards too afraid to see and take joy wherever they find it will always rally against those who do. Do you have the courage to stand proudly by her side when you are named a race traitor…even when those Nords didn't give you a second glance before? All the more reason to cling to her tightly I'd say."

Rikke closed her eyes, her heart hammered by her friend's merciless words. "I don't care about that Adelaisa! I will not be parted from her! I will- …oh damn, you always could get to the truth of my heart quickly."

"It's a gift. Now that we have the matters of the heart sorted, tell me, a female of such beauty and power…how does she fair in bed?"

"Addy!" Rikke knew what Adelaisa was doing but she couldn't help but crack a smile at the thought of love play with her dearest one.

"Oh please Rikke, we are both women here! I'll not give sanction to you courting her if she doesn't make you lose yourself in passion. I remember the screams of delight you had coming from your quarters in the small hours of the night during your more rambunctious days before Mara steadied your heart, so I believe I can vouchsafe your prowess. -Are you blushing?"

"…Addy, she will make a woman see colors she didn't know existed. She is caring and reverent as pain and humiliation have no place in her bed, but I didn't know I could beg for Dibella like my life was on the line. She is a demanding, attentive lover yet respect and love always guide her touch. I've started back running in the mornings."

Rikke let out a bark of laughter when Vendicci nudged her shoulder. "Good! It's about time you found someone that curls your toes and puts even your formidable stamina to task. It's a shame I've never found you desirable, I've often envied the exhausted, sated women that have left your bed. At least I'll no longer have to field your spurned or abandoned lovers."

Rikke frowned at that. "You make it sound like I have no loyalty…"

"Oh you do Rikke, there is no truer woman in Skyrim than you. However you are a hard mate to match, my friend, beauty and passionate love play only hold your interest for so long without honor and intelligence to fortify them. Dare I say that you've finally found your match, and in a legend of all places!"

"Her mind and her wit are as sharp as her blades. Her body strong and exquisite and her heart both noble and romantic. I…could not have prayed to the Divines and found better."

"Yes, love suits you Rikke. More importantly, I'm glad that you've finally found the reason that Mara kept your heart in safe keeping for so long. It was hard seeing you, a woman that only wanted to love and stand by your match before Mara, put that side of yourself behind walls. Go to her Rikke, petition her, and don't stop until you've placed your ring upon her hand. Even then don't stop until the Divines call you home. I feel bad for Tulius though."

"I beg your pardon?"

Vendicci grimaced in revulsion briefly before turning her gaze to her friend. "Oh the codger hides it with his bluster and ranting, but he desires you fiercely."

Rikke raked a hand over her face and let out a longsuffering sigh. "Addy, he is my commanding officer, more importantly he is a male."

"And the Dragonborn is your subordinate, although it is true you only care to embrace Dibella's daughters. I never said he had a chance at winning your affection, but at least when your only focus was the war he was the closest person to you. Tulius is an honorable man, but jealousy can tarnish honor. Keep an eye on him."

Rikke trusted her old friend, so she would take the words to heart, but she prayed to Talos that she need not have to choose between the Legion and her beloved. Nadira would always win, but it would be a high price to pay. She bid her friend farewell and traveled to the healer's infirmary to look in upon her love. The Dragonborn slept and Rikke was struck with how young she looked, despite being the elder of the two of them. The Nord renewed her vow to Talos and Mara, promising that she would love this female always, even if the Dragonborn forced them to part ways. After two days, the Dragonborn was well enough to return home. General Tulius sent Rikke with her, not wanting his spear against Ulfric to be injured further. The trip to Lakeview Manor was mostly quiet, the Dragonborn too drained to deign to speak often and Rikke was lost in her thoughts just as much. She had promised herself that she would close this gap between them, her conversations with Aela and Vendicci pushing to the forefront of her mind, but she was not certain how to accomplish such a task.

The Dragonborn recovered quickly within the walls of her Manor and Rikke marveled at the well-crafted and tended estate. It would seem that the considerable wealth Nadira was amassing had more to do with her shrewd mind and skill with the hammer and the chisel than the blade. Rikke struggled to work up the courage to go to her beloved, aching for her touch both in love play and in simple comfort. Yet the fear of rejection held her heart hostage and made her tongue thick and clumsy. Yet she often heard her lover outside her door, waiting, just as afraid to act before giving up and drifting away. Rikke's heart broke at the chasm that was opening up between herself and her love, both of them wanting to, but neither knowing quite how to bridge it. As she paced the guest quarters she had been given, she heard someone exit the manor. Aela's words rang in her ears and the Legate made a decision to act.

Rikke walked into the woods that surrounded the manor of her beloved, clad only in the light armor of the legion, her shield and sword strapped to her back. At her core she was a warrior and a Legionnaire and she would present herself as such. She treaded carefully through her lover's territory; she trusted the dragonborn with her life, but it would not do well to startle her.

Rikke paused as she found the large werewolf huddled piteously within a small cave. The air was heavy with the musk of female desire and the changeling trembled with fever that Rikke now knew no medicine could cure. Hircine had wanted perfect hunters from his weres and he'd stripped them of the vulnerable anatomy and urges that only served in mating and feeding young. Yet the attempt to force Human and Mer to fit into his ordered role, so different from their nature, left them with restless blood and upon the claiming of a love within their heart, the fever would come upon them. The burn of the fever and the bitterness conjured by war created the distance between them, but Rikke would see it eradicated this night.

It saddened Rikke to think that her love so feared her reaction that she would secret herself away and suffer even as her heart rejoiced at the physical reactions that proved that she was the one the Dragonborn's heart had chosen. Rikke moved closer, but kept enough distance to allow her love her freedom and she waited for the suffering werewolf to notice her presence. Nadira scented the air and despite her malady uncoiled to her feet with a fluidic grace. Rikke glanced over her form, noting the changes that had brought forth female anatomy to prominence where before there was only the sleek, sexless form of the hunt. Aside from a blush that darkened her cheeks, Rikke held fast, her ice blue eyes gazing into the burning ocher of her love's. Nadira shook her great head and the Legate felt the fear of rejection try to take hold of her heart. Her words were clear, but rough with the weight of her need as she attempted to send Rikke away. Yet she would not be turned away, not when her beloved needed her.

She expected to be afraid of the massive were that stood before her; molten amber eyes raking over her body in obvious hunger. Yet her body knew what her heart had always known; Nadira would never hurt her and she loved and desired the Manmeri werewolf fiercely. She stared at the were openly now, noting the changes arousal had brought to her body as the werewolf moved closer to tower above her. Rikke reached out with no fear but with great love and longing for one of her beloved's hands and she brought it to her face before kissing the palm lingeringly.

The Dragonborn growled in affectionate approval as her eyes cleared of some of the haze of the fever, and she offered Rikke one last chance to abandon their courtship. Rikke would not be denied as she demanded the heart of the Dragonborn for herself alone. In return she would allow the Dragonborn to keep the heart she'd taken already so long ago. The werewolf let out an amused chuckle, and Rikke's heart was buoyed to know that her love, not a beast stood before her. The Dragonborn sheathed her claws and drew Rikke to her, her nimble fingers and easy strength making short work of the armor that the Legate wore. When Rikke stood before her bare, the Dragonborn reached out and pressed her hand against the amulet of Mara the Nord woman wore around her neck. Rikke merely smiled in that way that suggested that the Dragonborn should have expected nothing less as she drew closer and wound her arms around the corded neck of her beloved.

The Dragonborn let out a growling sigh of delight before lifting the Nord woman into her arms and showing her what it was to lay with a werewolf in love.

The next morning Rikke woke slowly her body tingling pleasantly. Yet the cold furs and lack of strong arms about her let her know that her lover had gone off somewhere. Nadira entered bearing a waterskin and fresh fruits from her farm, only clad in a light jerkin and trousers. Rikke paused as she realized there was a roast cooking indirectly over a camp fire and cheese and fresh bread also lay nearby. Of course her beloved had prepared breakfast and a fire before returning to her. Yet Rikke was not hungry for food, not when she ached to make her supernatural lover hit a surprisingly high octave in her howl again. She should have known that even as a wolf Nadira would be a considerate and accomplished if not somewhat insatiable lover, and she grinned in salacious glee at the thought of laying with her intended once again. Yet when Rikke reached for her lover, attempting to draw her close, the Dragonborn resisted, even though her arousal was plain to see. Rikke pulled away, not wanting to push, waiting for her lover to gather her thoughts and speak.

"I'm sorry, Rikke…I …I gave you no choice, forcing you to lay with the beast."

"Nadira, the wolf is a part of you. And you didn't hurt me…quite the opposite in fact."

Yet the Dragonborn's voicing of her fears, brought Rikke's to the surface. Rikke fingered the Amulet of Mara. She knew Nadira loved her, but was it a lifetime kind of love? She was fully human…entering her middle years, and she would grow old and frail when Nadira was still young and beautiful by Mer standards. Even worse Rikke was a Lifer Legionnaire, she believed in the purpose of the Legion and would serve the Empire and the High Queen until she retired from service or met her end in battle. Rikke was a strategist but she was still a front line soldier, never asking of her soldiers what she herself would not do. Although it was likely that she would remain posted in Skyrim, realistically she could be taken anywhere. Was it fair to ask her beloved to become a Legionnaire's wife?

Nadira laughed full bodied and free before she drew Rikke into a kiss that left her ready to swoon. The Dragonborn easily refuted her fears, reminding her that her lifespan as a hybrid was not certain, that she too was in the Legion even if she was a free agent and that as the Dragonborn she faced down _dragons_ and other beings oblivionbent upon her death. However before all of that she loved Rikke, loved her in a way that she thought her heart could no longer feel. Smiling at the insecurities of two old wardogs, the Dragonborn drew her into a kiss or renewed passion. Be it that they had one year together or 100, the Dragonborn would gladly wear her ring and be her wife. Their love was the one certainty in her life and she would not abandon Rikke no matter where the Legion or destiny called them. Rikke couldn't hold back the tears then, and when her intended drew her close and kissed her sweetly she didn't resist. Moving away only to ensure that the roast would not burn, the Dragonborn undressed sensually and reached out to her love like a Dibellian priestess. When her love pulled her close and lay worshipful caresses and kisses upon her body she could do nothing but surrender. They lay together with reverence and passion only parting for sleep's embrace when the moons' light began to penetrate their haven of love and succor.

Their passion for one another bled into the battlefield. Neither wanted to lose the other, so they fought that much harder to put down Ulfric's rebellion. They were wed quickly as Riften was retaken and Maven Black-Briar was placed upon the Jarl's seat. Rikke detested the woman, wishing that politics were not so easily swayed by coin, but Lailia Law Giver had become a ghost of a leader. Riften fell into ruin while she made empty speeches and turned a blind eye. Yet there was an odd tension between the Black Briar matriarch and her new wife. She seemed to be the only person that Maven was actually afraid of. Rikke would have to remember to ask once Ulfric had been stopped once and for all.

Tulius rallied the troops, pushing now that victory seemed certain. The Legate didn't relish the final assault upon Windhelm, but she could think of no one better to have by her side in battle than her beloved. They swept the city and rushed the Palace. Ulfric, defiant to the end, breathed his last upon the General's blade, for the Dragonborn wouldn't give him the satisfaction of doing it herself. The battle was finished, with a final goodbye to her foolish old friend, Rikke and her wife moved to hear the General's decree. Rikke would be stationed in Solitude while General Tulius remained in Windhelm. Yet the look in Ulfric's eyes as he died, the conviction, unbroken even in his defeat hammered at Rikke. Not wanting to show her shaken foundation to her wife, the Legate saddled her horse and headed for Solitude before the Dragonborn finished her debriefing.

Within the safe walls of her house Rikke let her daedra come to bear. The Legate rarely indulged in spirits, always wanting a clear head and true emotions, but in this moment she didn't mind the dull haze that the drink brought to her. How she hated war, how she hated to preside over funerals of young women and men, young Humans and Mer and Beastfolk. How she hated to pen letters of condolence and sign with the General's hand to grieving mothers and spouses. How she hated to clean Legion medallions of caked on blood to send with the letters. She wanted to send home living breathing soldiers, to permit them to return to their previous lives or to serve the Emperor in peace, not locks of hair before bodies were burned and committed to Aetherius. Every life she failed to bring home her burden, every grief stricken face her penance. She hated that Humans and Mer could look at each other and rather than see the joy of friendship and cooperation and delight in diversity, they saw resources to be plundered and numbers that they could cull with no thought, rather than lives that would be destroyed or forever changed. Rikke longed for a world where she was not needed, where she could lay down her arms and live her life quietly with her love.

She didn't turn when the door clicked open; Rikke wanted to hide from knowing amber eyes. The Legate didn't respond as she heard her wife move into the kitchen and begin preparing a meal to balance out the mead she'd indulged. However, she did switch to water until her love called her to eat, not wanting to foist her despair upon her beloved in drunken belligerence. They ate in silence, the Dragonborn asking for nothing and when the meal was done she simply held Rikke close. The Nord swallowed against the lump in her throat as she realized that she had found someone that understood, someone that didn't demand anything other than what Rikke would demand of herself and in that moment the Nord let her tears fall. She wept for those that died, but she also wept in joy for those that lived.

Her work was not done, not when her love still needed to face the World Eater. Rikke didn't know how she could aid her, but by Shor's bones and Dibella's grace she would see her wife come home to her. Gently they came together, knowing each other in touch that was more for comfort and completion than for the rush of passion. When finally they held each other, sated and spent Rikke knew that where ever fate would send them, they would face their challenges, together.

In the small hours of the night Legate Rikke of Solitude, wife of the Dragonborn thanked Mara and Talos for answering her prayers.

May Mara's Light guide them both.

* * *

Please note that all of the Mara's Light entries are oneshots by design. Essentially they are pairings that I like but don't feel compelled to work on a series for. As always my standard dragonborn, Nadira is a Redguard/Altmer manmeri with raven hair.


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